Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte

Chapter 33

ON THE MORROW of that Monday, Earnshaw being still unable to follow his ordinary employments, and
therefore remaining about the house, I speedily found it would be impracticable to retain my charge beside me, as
heretofore. She got downstairs before me, and out into the garden, where she had seen her cousin performing some easy
work; and when I went to bid them come to breakfast, I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from
currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange.

I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished in a brief half-hour; the black currant trees were
the apple of Joseph’s eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flower-bed in the midst of them.

“There! That will be all shown to the master,” I exclaimed, “the minute it is discovered. And what excuse have you
to offer for taking such liberties with the garden? We shall have a fine explosion on the head of it: see if we don’t!
Mr. Hareton, I wonder you should have no more wit, than to go and make that mess at her bidding!”

“I’d forgotten they were Joseph’s,” answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled; “but I’ll tell him I did it.”

We always ate our meals with Mr. Heathcliff. I held the mistress’s post in making tea and carving; so I was
indispensable at table. Catherine usually sat by me, but to-day she stole nearer to Hareton; and I presently saw she
would have no more discretion in her friendship than she had in her hostility.

“Now, mind you don’t talk with and notice your cousin too much,” were my whispered instructions as we entered the
room. “It will certainly annoy Mr. Heathcliff, and he’ll be mad at you both.”

“I’m not going to,” she answered.

The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking primroses in his plate of porridge.

He dared not speak to her there: he dared hardly look; and yet she went on tearing till he was twice on the point of
being provoked to laugh. I frowned, and then she glanced toward the master: whose mind was occupied on other subjects
than his company, as his countenance evinced; and she grew serious for an instant, scrutinising him with deep gravity.
Afterwards she turned, and recommenced her nonsense; at last, Hareton uttered a smothered laugh. Mr. Heathcliff
started; his eye rapidly surveyed our faces. Catherine met it with her accustomed look of nervousness and yet defiance,
which he abhorred.

“It is well you are out of my reach,” he exclaimed. “What fiend possesses you to stare back at me, continually, with
those infernal eyes? Down with them! and don’t remind me of your existence again. I thought I had cured you of
laughing.”

“It was me,” muttered Hareton.

“What do you say?” demanded the master.

Hareton looked at his plate, and did not repeat the confession. Mr. Heathcliff looked at him a bit, and then
silently resumed his breakfast and his interrupted musing. We had nearly finished, and the two young people prudently
shifted wider asunder, so I anticipated no further disturbance during that sitting: when Joseph appeared at the door,
revealing by his quivering lip and furious eyes, that the outrage committed on his precious shrubs was detected. He
must have seen Cathy and her cousin about the spot before he examined it, for while his jaws worked like those of a cow
chewing its cud, and rendered his speech difficult to understand, he began:

“I mun hey my wage, and I mun goa! I hed aimed to dee, wheare I’d sarved fur sixty year; and I thowt I’d lug my
books up into t’ garret, and all my bits o’ stuff, and they sud hev t’ kitchen to theirseln; for t’ sake o’ quietness.
It were hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but I thowt I could do that! But, nab, shoo’s taan my garden fro’ me, and by
th’ heart, maister, I cannot stand it! Yah may bend to th’ yoak, and ye will — I noan used to ‘t, and an old man
doesn’t sooin get used to new barthens. I’d rayther arn my bite and my sup wi’ a hammer in th’ road!”

“Now, now, idiot!” interrupted Heathcliff, “cut it short! What’s your grievance? I’ll interfere in no quarrels
between you and Nelly. She may thrust you into the coalhole for anything I care.”

“I’ve pulled up two or three bushes,” replied the young man; “but I’m going to set ‘em again.”

“And why have you pulled them up?” said the master.

Catherine wisely put in her tongue.

“We wanted to plant some flowers there,” she cried. “I’m the only person to blame, for I wished him to do it.”

“And who the devil gave you leave to touch a stick about the place?” demanded her father-in-law, much surprised.
“And who ordered you to obey her?” he added, turning to Hareton.

The latter was speechless; his cousin replied:

“You shouldn’t grudge a few yards of earth for me to ornament, when you have taken all my land!”

“Your land, insolent slut! You never had any,” said Heathcliff.

“And my money,” she continued; returning his angry glare, and meantime biting a piece of crust, the remnant of her
breakfast.

“Silence!” he exclaimed. “Get done, and begone!”

“And Hareton’s land, and his money,” pursued the reckless thing. “Hareton and I are friends now; and I shall tell
him all about you!”

The master seemed confounded a moment: he grew pale, and rose up, eyeing her all the while, with an expression of
mortal hate.

“If you strike me, Hareton will strike you,” she said; “so you may as well sit down.”

“If Hareton does not turn you out of the room, I’ll strike him to hell,” thundered Heathcliff. “Damnable witch! dare
you pretend to rouse him against me? Off with her! Do you hear? Fling her into the kitchen! I’ll kill her, Ellen Dean,
if you let her come into my sight again!”

Hareton tried, under his breath, to persuade her to go.

“Drag her away!” he cried savagely. “Are you staying to talk?” And he approached to execute his own command.

“He’ll not obey you, wicked man, any more,” said Catherine; “and he’ll soon detest you as much as I do.”

“Wisht! wisht!” muttered the young man reproachfully. “I will not hear you speak so to him. Have done.”

“But you won’t let him strike me?” she cried.

“Come, then,” he whispered earnestly.

It was too late: Heathcliff had caught hold of her.

“Now you go!” he said to Earnshaw. “Accursed witch! this time she has provoked me when I could not bear it; and I’ll
make her repent it for ever!”

He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her locks, entreating him not to hurt her that once.
Heathcliff’s black eyes flashed; he seemed ready to tear Catherine in pieces, and I was just worked up to risk coming
to the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers relaxed; he shifted his grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed intently
in her face. Then he drew his hand over her eyes, stood a moment to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to
Catherine, said, with assumed calmness: “You must learn to avoid putting me in a passion, or I shall really murder you
some time! Go with Mrs. Dean, and keep with her; and confine your insolence to her ears. As to Hareton Earnshaw, if I
see him listen to you, I’ll send him seeking his bread where he can get it! Your love will make him an outcast and a
beggar. Nelly, take her; and leave me, all of you! Leave me!”

I led my young lady out: she was too glad of her escape to resist; the other followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the
room to himself till dinner. I had counselled Catherine to dine upstairs; but, as soon as he perceived her vacant seat,
he sent me to call her. He spoke to none of us, ate very little, and went out directly afterwards, intimating that he
would not return before evening.

The two new friends established themselves in the house during his absence; when I heard Hareton sternly check his
cousin, on her offering a revelation of her father-in-law’s conduct to his father. He said he wouldn’t suffer a word to
be uttered in his disparagement: if he were the devil, it didn’t signify: he would stand by him; and he’d rather she
would abuse himself, as she used to, than begin on Mr. Heathcliff. Catherine was waxing cross at this; but he found
means to make her hold her tongue, by asking how she would like him to speak ill of her father? Then she comprehended
that Earnshaw took the master’s reputation home to himself; and was attached by ties stronger than reason could break —
chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen. She showed a good heart, thenceforth, in
avoiding both complaints and expressions of antipathy concerning Heathcliff; and confessed to me her sorrow that she
had endeavoured to raise a bad spirit between him and Hareton: indeed, I don’t believe she has ever breathed a
syllable, in the latter’s hearing, against her oppressor since.

When this slight disagreement was over, they were friends again, and as busy as possible in their several
occupations of pupil and teacher. I came in to sit with them, after I had done my work; and I felt so soothed and
comforted to watch them, that I did not notice how time got on. You know, they both appeared in a measure my children:
I had long been proud of one; and now, I was sure, the other would be a source of equal satisfaction. His honest, warm,
and intelligent nature shook off rapidly the clouds of ignorance and degradation in which it had been bred; and
Catherine’s sincere commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His brightening mind brightened his features, add
added spirit and nobility to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it the same individual I had beheld on the day I
discovered my little lady at Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. While I admired and they laboured,
dusk grew on, and with it returned the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, entering by the front way, and had a
full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him. Well, I reflected, there was never a
pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red firelight glowed on their two
bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and
she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of
sober disenchanted maturity.

They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr. Heathcliff perhaps you have never remarked that their eyes are
precisely similar, and they are those of Catherine Earnshaw. The present Catherine has no other likeness to her, except
a breadth of forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril that makes her appear rather haughty, whether she will or not.
With Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is singular at all times, then it was particularly striking;
because his senses were alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity. I suppose this resemblance
disarmed Mr. Heathcliff; he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the
young man: or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet. He took the book from his hand, and glanced
at the open page, then returned it without any observation; merely signing Catherine away: her companion lingered very
little behind her, and I was about to depart also, but he bid me sit still.

“It is a poor conclusion, is it not?” he observed, having brooded a while on the scene he had just witnessed: “an
absurd termination to my violent exertions? I get levers and mattocks to demolish the two houses, and train myself to
be capable of working like Hercules, and when everything is ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a slate off
either roof has vanished! My old enemies have not beaten me; now would be the precise time to revenge myself on their
representatives: I could do it; and none could hinder me. But where is the use? I don’t care for striking; I can’t take
the trouble to raise my hand! That sounds as if I had been labouring the whole time only to exhibit a fine trait of
magnanimity. It is far from being the case: I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to
destroy for nothing.

“Nelly, there is a strange change approaching: I’m in its shadow at present. I take so little interest in my daily
life, that I hardly remember to eat and drink. Those two who have left the room are the only objects which retain a
distinct material appearance to me; and that appearance causes me pain, amounting to agony. About her I won’t speak;
and I don’t desire to think; but I earnestly wish she were invisible: her presence invokes only maddening sensations.
He moves me differently: and yet if I could do it without seeming insane, I’d never see him again. You’ll perhaps think
me rather inclined to become so,” he added, making an effort to smile, “if I try to describe the thousand forms of past
associations and ideas he awakens or embodies. But you’ll not talk of what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally
secluded in itself, it is tempting at last to turn it out to another.

“Five minutes ago, Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being: I felt to him in such a variety
of ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness
to Catherine connected him fearfully with her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my
imagination, is actually the least: for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot
look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree — filling the air at
night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day — I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men
and women — my own features — mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that
she did exist, and that I have lost her! Well, Hareton’s aspect was the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild
endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish:

“But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you: only it will let you know why, with a reluctance to be always
alone, his society is no benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer; and it partly contributes to
render me regardless how he and his cousin go on together. I can give them no attention, any more.”

“But what do you mean by a change, Mr. Heathcliff?” I said, alarmed at his manner: though he was neither in danger
of losing his senses, nor dying, according to my judgment: he was quite strong and healthy: and, as to his reason, from
childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark things, and entertaining odd fancies. He might have had a monomania on
the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine.

“I shall not know that till it comes,” he said, “I’m only half conscious of it now.”

“You have no feelings of illness, have you?” I asked.

“No, Nelly, I have not,” he answered.

“Then you are not afraid of death?” I pursued.

“Afraid? No!” he replied. “I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my
hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall, remain
above ground till there is scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet, I cannot continue in this condition! I have to
remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring: it is by
compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or
dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are
yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I’m convinced it will be reached
— and soon — because it has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfillment. My
confessions have not relieved me; but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show.
O God! It is a long fight, I wish it were over!”

He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to himself, till I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph
did, that conscience had turned his heart to an earthly hell. I wondered greatly how it would end. Though he seldom
before had revealed this state of mind, even by looks, it was his habitual mood, I had no doubt: he asserted it
himself; but not a soul, from his general bearing, would have conjectured the fact. You did not when you saw him, Mr.
Lockwood: and at the period of which I speak he was just the same as then; only fonder of continued solitude, and
perhaps still more laconic in company.